


By The Lantern's Light

by ActuallyMothman42



Category: DCU (Comics), Doom Patrol (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-07 22:34:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26815171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ActuallyMothman42/pseuds/ActuallyMothman42
Summary: Simply a work of my own bizarre au that I'm just shoving together concepts for fun."There are many truths and half truths to our universe. The toast will always land butter side up, lightning never strikes twice, and so on. But most importantly, you can't keep a good man down, and The Doom Patrol will always have the weirdest missions to go on. Finding a glowing rock called the starheart that ate an old school hero isn't that odd, all things considered."
Kudos: 5





	1. Chapter 1

It had been a perfectly pleasant evening, right up until the bay window shattered. Rosemary Mandrake was having the night in, reading a novel explaining the explicit romance between a handsome rouge and the baker’s daughter on her chaise lounge, ignoring the scratching fingers on the windows and door. Let them beg for entry, she wasn’t even going to give them the satisfaction of even hearing them. So when the brick came sailing in through the window, she didn’t look up and soon retired for the night. Only the next morning did she bother to read the hastily scribbled note attached to the brick. Extraordinarily, it wasn’t the usual death threat, but rather a request. In her tired monotone, she questioned aloud to nobody in particular: “Who on earth is Alan Scott?” 

Who indeed is Alan Scott? Originally a simple train engineer, but fate chose him as the starheart chose to save him above the others from that fiery crash. He emerged and became a hero, earth's very first Green Lantern, taking on the title despite having no relationship to those intergalactic corps. He was brought together with other heroes by the decree of the president to form the Justice Society of America. How patriotic. That is until the country they served declared him and the rest of those brave individuals common commie reds. He couldn’t even escape that in his secret identity, as his broadcasting company became blacklisted. Yet still he persevered. The years past, his company found success again, the justice society reformed, he went through the trials with courage. He wrote the book on willpower, self declared. He was noble and respectable. He was everything a hero should be, until he wasn’t.  
As you see, Alan Scott is now dead. Eaten by the same thing that had given him that mighty power all these years, dissolved into dust, the green flame that existed within him reabsorbed. And then? It shot off, never to be seen again. The JSA searched for it in vain, hoping to find and perhaps avenge their fallen comrade. But eventually they moved on, bigger threats calling, and a statue of the man now occupied the hall of fallen heroes alongside all those original members. Once there were four heroes standing in the society, now only three stood. And truthfully only two, as the hawk didn’t quite count. Reincarnation was a funny thing after all. 

But another funny thing was the resilience of the human soul, particularly ones as stubborn as Alan Scott. What never truly lived can’t exactly die, but instead it may lie dormant in a type of slumber. Or however that one saying went. As the starheart still glowed from within, in its current place of rest. 

\--------

For a place referred to as “Doom Manor”, it was a surprisingly pleasant building. It wasn’t on the top of a hill, it held no dark spires, no cemetery gates, no lightning flashing above. There was a garden outside that held no thorny briars and deadly nightshade, instead what was currently being planted were pink daisies. Larry Trainor enjoyed gardening, and recent purchases from a garden center were now being incorporated. The trip wasn’t nearly as bad as expected, though of course there were stares. That was to be expected, as a man bandaged head to toe wasn’t a common sight. Stares were behind his back, and whispers of “that poor man”, wondering what kind of medical condition required such a thing. He wasn’t the invisible man as asked by a curious five year old, but rather an incredibly radioactive freak of nature kept alive by the spirit of negative energy. Not a monster, just a coward who couldn't even talk to the cashier without his hands shaking. Some kinda hero he was. 

His regular meditation àla self loathing served with flowers was interrupted when a sonorous voice embodied with a false cheer and an inner sting of a wasp called out to him "Larry! We have a visitor!"  
The voice belonged to none other than Rita Farr, a has-been star by no fault of her own but rather an experiment by Niles Caulder turning her into a flesh transforming being in his quest for immortality and a way to stop his own daughter. A daughter who wasn't the world ending threat she was said to be and now held a real father figure in Joshua Clay, but that's an entirely different story for another time. The Doom Patrol; Rita and Larry, members both; has had many a strange story. That seems to be the main quality to the team.  
And it appeared that there was going to be another one, given Rita's visible tight lipped annoyance and interruption of the gardening. The two were closely tied and knew when to not step on the other's toes,  
So Larry sighed, put down the trowel, and made his way inside to find Cliff Steele, a man of metal with a brain inside (another one of Niles Caulder's experiments. The Doom Patrol was a strange bunch but what brought them all together was that they were all created by that damn man.) cursing out a mall-goth in the parlor.

"Is this all of you now?" The woman asked, tapping her overly long black nails together while Jane wrinkled her nose at the sound. Jane was a collection of personalities and voices; all with unique powers courtesy of Niles Caulder; and none of them were fond of that organic clacking. 

"Good. Kipling said he uses you as last ditch efforts. Because I consider him a second to last ditch effort, I wish to employ you."

"Lady, I don't know who you are, but we are not for sale-" Cliff began, before Rosemary waved a one hundred dollar bill in his welded face. 

Rita promptly snatched it from her. "Well who are we to deny our capitalistic society?" 

This was to Jane's eyeroll and anarchy aligned chagrin, but then again, a fool and their money were easily parted. If this woman could wave around hundred dollar bills as bait, they might as well take it, as Rita said. How bad could her offer be anyways? It couldn't be worse than Mr Nobody. 

From her satchel covered in My Chemical Romance buttons and patches bearing statements such as "normal people scare me" Rosemary Mandrake retrieved the brick, note attached. With the weighty gesture like she was the Lady Of The Lake handing off excalibur to King Arthur, she gave the brick to a thoroughly unimpressed Larry. 

Furrowing his brow; though the thick mummifying wrappings left his face expressionless so it was seen by nobody; he read aloud from the poorly written script: "Bring us Alan Scott to fuel our bonfire of spectacular delights or the parakeet gets it." 

"Who the fuck is Alan Scott?" was the sentiment of the entire group now, though Cliff was the first to say it, as per usual. That seemed to be one of his roles of The Doom Patrol, to say the dumb things that everyone was already thinking but didn't want to say aloud, for they didn't want to seem stupid. Cliff didn't need anybody's help to seem stupid, he did it all on his own. 

Jane was quickly googling on her phone, scowling at the results. "Well, it says here he's dead." A commotion immediately broke out, as Larry tried to back out of the room with "Oh no no no no. I'm not robbing any graves." 

Rosemary rolled her eyes with a mutter of "Noobs" before beckoning everyone to come close to her. "Come here. I'll tell you the truth."

Nobody moved.

She continued to gesture until they stepped forward. "No, closer." Only when they were all reluctantly in a tight circle that she conspiratorially whispered "Alan Scott isn't dead… because he's the Green Lantern."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which facts are clarified

At that the group immediately burst into chaos.   
"No he's not! The Green Lantern is black! And quite handsome." Rita exclaimed, thinking of the noble John Stewart.   
"No no no, they're a girl! With a sick facial tattoo!" Cliff argued, thinking of the brave Jessica Cruz.   
"What the fuck are you talking about? He's a dick with a bad haircut!" Jane said, baffled by the others as she was thinking of the jerk, Guy Gardener. 

Larry was quite confused as well, quietly recalling his childhood fascination with the Justice Society of America.   
"No. I think he's talking about the one with the horrible outfit."   
The group stared blankly at him, until Larry gestured to mimic a high collar. "The purple cape?" 

To which all three of the Doom Patrol were in rare form: total agreement. They now agreed that Larry was dangerously out of touch yet again. 

"What are you fucking talking about! Green Lantern doesn't have a cape!" Cliff shouted and Jane backed him up with "They're the Green Lanterns, not the Purple Lanterns!"

"And they don't have collars, it's a spandex suit.. hiding absolutely nothing." Rita said with a blush. 

Jane grinned at that and put her hand to her heart. In the most serious tone she could muster, she monologued "In brightest day, in darkest night, in spandex that hides nothing from sight."  
It wasn't as if she cared what Rita thought about her, but for reasons unknown to her, she liked it when Rita genuinely smiled instead of that resting smug bitch face. Her heart soared as Rita snorted at that, before Rosemary whined "Are you taking any of this seriously!?" 

Cliff answered promptly: "No." 

Rosemary stamped her foot with an exasperated groan. "Don't be so difficult! He is the first Green Lantern on earth. The… mummy is right in identifying him." She said that with hesitancy, but had no desire to learn his name or really any of their names. They were all means to an end, she didn't need to bother. That was just fine, as the Doom Patrol equally had no respect for her or the incentive to remember her name either. 

Larry was used to being referred to as a mummy, but didn't want to be called that by a woman who hadn't outgrown her scene phase.   
"It's Larry Trainor."  
"Okay." she said in a voice that showed it was all in one ear and out the other.   
"But why are you calling on us? This is something for the Justice Society right? That's one of their guys!"   
Rosemary shrugged. "Well he's supposed to be evil now. And dead. They'd just want to punch him." 

Cliff looked at the goth incredulously as his metal face would allow. "Just how are we supposed to deal with that! He could just fling us into space!"

Rosemary pouted. "If he was actually in full control of his powers, they wouldn't have asked me to get him. They know my limits." 

Rita interjected indignantly. "Who is 'they'? If I'm potentially going to be blasted to a crisp I want to know on whose dime I'm doing it for!" 

Rosemary raised her arms with her shawl, to better fit the role of a ghostly storyteller. "Coming from the cracks in between, they are the beings within the walls of the world, where the sun will never shine. They skulk in the corners, leer in the shadows, waiting for their moment while they feed on the scraps of our wayside…" 

Jane raised an eyebrow. "They're demonic raccoons?" 

"No!" Rosemary exclaimed, but paused for a thought. "Maybe. But they want the light most of all, not trash. Anything that shines." 

"So we're on an errand for demonic raccoons with magpie tendencies." 

"Correct." 

Well it certainly wasn't the strangest thing the Doom Patrol had to do. In fact, it leaned more towards normalcy, but of course there was the key issue.   
Cliff spoke up "How are we supposed to find him when the friggin' justice society can't?" 

Rosemary merely shrugged and headed towards the door. "That's your problem, not mine. I've passed it onto you."   
And with that she was gone, leaving only the smell of off brand mall kiosk perfume. Rita's nose had been wrinkling the whole time; not just at the entirety of their visitor; she had a sensitive palate and that obscenely artificial citrus was too much. 

And so it was that Rita clapped her hands as a call to action. "I think we all know who can help us!"   
The rest of the Doom Patrol turned, faces blank. Rita impatiently tapped her foot. "Our dear metallic friend…"   
Immediately a chorus broke out. "Victor!" 

Ah yes, dear Victor Stone. Courageous and always ready to do what is right, with a golden heart that also happens to be a cybernetic component. The only competent member of the Doom Patrol, and the only "meathead superhero" universally loved by the group of oddballs. Though he had his own responsibilities to attend to in Chicago, he still visited and was a valued friend and the true leader.   
So of course he answered right away when he saw who was calling, despite the hassles the Doom Patrol dealt with. It almost made one wish to stop a bank robbery. 

"Green Lantern? You'll need to be more specific, Grid is showing results for… 7,200 lanterns in existence right now." 

On speakerphone, he heard Jane and Cliff's disbelieving and simultaneous "WHAT?"   
Rita sighed and clarified. "The purple caped one. Of the JSA."

Vic froze as he heard that. He had a history with the Justice Society of America you see. When he was younger, his father encouraged him to shoot lower than the Justice League, and he found himself being mentored by the one and only Michael Holt, aka Mr Terrific. But the problem was that Mr Terrific was simply… well…. terrific. Anything Vic did he could obviously do better, even as he good naturedly encouraged the cyborg teen. It'd worn him down without the man even realizing, and as the only thing a sixteen year old could really do, he quietly quit and ran right back to his father's arms.   
Vic was now a competent hero in his own right, and he'd always secretly been wondering if Mr Terrific would still be proud of him.   
Now he'd be getting that chance to know, sitting in the Doom Patrol's headquarters, or as others would call it: the living room. 

"Deep breaths kid." Cliff instructed, showing the breathing technique Rita had once taught him, and Victor dutifully tried to mimic down to the over dramatic arm gesture. Whether that was an integral part to the exercise was unknown to either. 

Victor was both a terrible liar and hated to lie: A real chicken and the egg scenario. So Rita Farr, a known liar, had helpfully hatched up a script that allowed Vic to not exactly have to lie, but rather go a roundabout way and strategically leave out facts. She'd even devised cue cards that she now carefully arranged as he prepared to have Grid dial. 

Micheal Holt was just as Victor remembered him, and he tried his best to match that clear and confident tone. He hadn't expected that Mr Terrific had been watching his progress. 

"I really do feel pride for how you've grown, I always saw how you had that spark inside. You just had to let yourself grow into it, and you have! I think you'd make a fine member of the JSA now, our doors would always be open for you." 

Victor's voice held an audible tremble of excitement, his goal of being a hero, his drive, was not something the rest of the Doom Patrol could truly relate to. Rita admittedly had her moments though. They respected it for Victor, and Cliff clapped him on the back as an early congratulatory message. 

But Larry brought the matter at hand back, as he tapped conspicuously at Rita's cue cards with what would be a raised eyebrow had it not been hidden behind the bandages. 

So Victor did find his way around the small talk, asking about members, until they came to Alan Scott. There was a pained pause as Mr Terrific looked down with a sigh.   
"What we'd feared for so long finally came true: his own powers consumed him. The starheart is still out there, possibly dangerously unstable… Jay- The Flash- has run laps around the world looking for it, looking for him. He's a positive thinker but between you and me… the realistic conclusion is that Alan isn't coming back. The starheart may stabilize and choose a new host but I think the borrowed time finally ran out." 

The conversation dwindled from there, until ending with Victor promising to seriously consider that offer. The call shut down, and a silence went over the group. 

Cliff elegantly broke the silence. "So we're looking for a rock that can potentially blow up in our faces?"


End file.
